


Little girls don't tell lies

by RoyalBastardess



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Blood, Child Murder, Gore, Murder, Self-Defense, Swords, Trauma, mentions of child abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-19
Updated: 2015-11-19
Packaged: 2018-05-02 10:20:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5244689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RoyalBastardess/pseuds/RoyalBastardess
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>+ Hello! This is the backstory on my Hannibal Character, Dezerae. Constructive Criticism Welcome! +</p>
            </blockquote>





	Little girls don't tell lies

The bus ride from Baltimore, Maryland to Bangor, Maine was uncomfortable. Dez leaned against the open window, the wind coming in sharp and choppy, blowing her blond hair everywhere until she got irritated enough at it to snap it back into a ponytail. Her leg bounced, her palms sweat, her breathing was shallow; she wanted to get home, _now_. There was only a few other people on the bus with her, all of them minding their own business with either their own entertainment or by way of watching the scenery fly by.

Ryder hadn’t answered any of Dezeraes calls. She knew her little brother was smart for a twelve-year-old; He hadn’t gone outside without her since the kidnappings and murders started around their quiet city-town. But still, Dezerae fidgeted and squirmed in her seat, checking her phone again and again because it really wasn’t the child murders she was worried about, to be honest. 

It was her uncle.

Dezerae, Domanic ( her father ) and Ryder had always lived a nomadic lifestyle; Her father owned a camper and wanted to see America with his children, let them learn what they wanted to learn, until he found a girl in Maine he fell in love with. Not living together or Married quite yet, Dezeraes dad had jumped on the chance to stay in Maine in his brothers home, the old Sixteenth Century farmhouse big enough for all of them to fit comfortably. 

However, when Domanic disappeared with his girl for days and days, leaving the fifteen year old to care for her little brother, there had developed a routine.

Dezerae wakes at six AM, goes downstairs to the kitchen, where she makes as little noise as possible to get the coffee started. At Six ten, her uncle wakes, makes himself a coffee brandy and hits her outside the head with his brick-like fist. By Six Thirty, Dez is relenting her Uncles fist in her hair as he spits and shouts in her face and throws her from room to room in front of her little brother, who is clawing at their uncles arm to let her go. By Seven thirty, Dez is getting the hard, metal latch of a belt to her back, butt and head while she clutches Ryder protectively to her chest.

By Eight o’clock in the morning, Dezerae is bleeding and bruised and leaning on Ryder as the skinny twelve-year old hefts his sister to Will Grahams house, where he tends to her horrifically torn flesh. And that was only the morning schedule.

Dezeraes phone buzzes in her pocket, and she jumps as she scrambles to answer it. “Ryder?!” She asks quickly. Ryders quick little breaths are heard for a moment, and Dezeraes blood turns to ice. “Ryder? Ryder, talk to me right this instant.”

“Dez,” He squeaks fearfully, “I-I-I, I know who the murderer is, I-I know. _It was him the whole time.”_  Dez’s eyes widened, “Who, Ryder? Is he at the house with you right now?”

“God, Dezee, Please, I’m so scared.”

The bus pulls to a stop in front of Dezeraes drive way. She grapples her things, her Wakazahi firm in her grip, as she runs out of the bus. “Ryder, I’m just up the street, stay where you a-”

“ _NO PLEASE NO_!” was shrieked from the other line. Dez dropped her phone and bolted towards her house, slamming her shoulder against the door. It was locked firmly, but  _never_ keep a girl from someone she loves. Dezerae throws a rock into the glass doors and jumps in, stopping when red catches her eyes.

It was Hell. The liquid flames licked up the walls, speckled the bookcase, and pooled on the floor, reeking in the hot summertime sun. On the heavy metal truck was a hand, its fingers still gripping it tightly as it did before it was cut off. A blood trail from her brothers door to his toy room stopped at the split open body, from the neck to the groin, Ryder was opened and everything violently ripped out.

Dez stumbled back and into the wall, covering her mouth as her eyes teemed. “Oh My God,” She whimpered, “ _Oh my God, RYDER._ ” She crawled to her little brother, cradled his head and gazed desperately into those lifeless, glassy green eyes that lit up her Dopamine receptors like no one could. Dez raked her fingers through his wooly, curly, black hair, blood-soaked and sticky. “ _Oh, God, No, please_ ,” She sobbed, “ _Not Him. You can’t have him. GOD NO PLEASE, NO!_ ”

“What’s the matter,  _Fraulein_?” her uncle walked in, leaning against the door way. His mouth was smeared with blood, claw marks down the side of his neck. Ryders intestine hung in her uncles fist and he lazily, nonchalantly swung it. “ _YOU…SON OF A BITCH…_ ” Dez shook with rage, her bright blue iris’ turning black and her lips pulling back in a snarl as she clutched her brother closer. “ _You’re next_.” Her uncle launched at her and knocked his fist into her jaw, sending her sprawling away from Ryder and into the wall, her head whacking against the cement. Dezeraes eyes crossed and she groaned, leaning on the wall for support as she slipped in the blood. 

Dezerae screamed and turned on him, jumping with her mouth open and biting down on his ear hard enough for it to split under her teeth. Her uncle roared and punched her stomach, but she didn’t let go until half of his ear was ripped away and spat out. In his pained stupor, Dezerae grabbed her Wakazashi and threw the sheath, charging. “ _DIE_!” She shrieked and sent the sharp blade deep into her uncles belly, through his spine. Dezerae ripped her arms up, her uncles stomach spilling out as she sunk her teeth next into his jugular for good measure. She didn’t realize until she heard a clatter that her uncle was holding one of her dads Native American knives, the blade bulky and ridged, made for cutting. Her shoulder throbbed and bled at a heavy flow, hot and burning down her arm, which soon went limp and useless.

Dezerae dropped away from her uncles body and kneeled by Ryders. Her tears splattered on his face, and before she knew it, FBI members were bursting through the door and swarming like ants. She hissed and snapped at any who came near her, lashing out as she backed into a corner with her brothers body firmly in her arms. A heavyset black man forcefully and bodily lifted Dezerae into his arms, trapping hers as she thrashed and screamed. Ryders body was taken from her. “ _NO_!” Dezerae screamed, “ _DON’T TAKE HIM! DON’T TOUCH HIM! LEAVE HIM ALONE! RYDER!_  “

“He’s gone!” The black man bellowed, then said it again softer as Dez quieted her pleas into sobs. “ _Don’t take him from me. God, Please, No. This can’t be happening…Ryderrrrr…Oh My God…_ ”


End file.
